Beyond the Storm
by Encard
Summary: An old traveler returns home to only the loss of all he hoped for. Something to fear is rising...The storm ahead shall be long and dark.
1. The Town

**I. The Town**

The town was arranged like a spatter-pattern of wood and stone splashed into order by the brush of a mad god, raised earth caked around the buildings in a rough ring. On the edge of the Forest, the homes and shops were small and dense, walls of thick trimmed pine closing in the hard beds and stove-fires, haylofts, woodcutters' axes, tallow candles, steel silverware – all the little things of home, packed in, compressed. Bright pennants flapped when the wind rode past, baying hollowly as it drove the Forest's fog ahead in swirling eddies.

Now only young ghosts frequented the crooked streets – shallow beds had become shallow graves stained a dreadful red; shutters that once guarded against the chill of night now buried in darkness patterns to match the madness of the town roads themselves. The drafts that seeped in and down around the windowpanes rose back up with the taste of copper.

In some nearby tree a bird sang – soft, beautiful, oblivious to the homes newly emptied of life.


	2. Returning

**II. Returning**

Gerard felt the wind drag across the back of his travel-stained cloak and pack, seeming to pull at him, not wanting to let him free. Rolling his shoulders, the old man ran a hand through his ragged gray hair as he took another step. The stone road beneath was as worn as his boots - thin, scratched and hard, seamed so deep with dirt that no amount of rain could rinse it clean. It was an old road, built long before his own day or even his revered great-grandfather's – old it seemed even in the day when the first settlers had erected their makeshift shelters on the Forest's fringe, the first men to visit the old pines. _You'll not keep me, Friend Sky_, Gerard though at the wind continued its relentless tug. _I've been a long time coming home, and home I'll stay_.

Gerard's travels were etched deep – weatherbeaten skin, toughened by bitter cold and scorching heat – pale scars from barfights and pitched battles – clothes patched once and again until hardly any parts of the originals remained – rough, callused hands – eyes more ancient than the man himself – the road had left its mark. His steps quickened as he sighted the gate, the steel-edged pine set into hard, thick earthen walls familiar to him even after years of absence; he imagined he could smell the stove-fires from where he was, hearty slabs of meat already cooking for the evening. Was it the sound of laughter that wafted to him over the high wall, of children playing their games and craftsmen who labored and joked as they worked? _Home, home!_ Gerard's racing mind cried as he broke into a run against the dragging wind. _How I've missed you!_

As he ran, his right hand snaked to check the battered sword that hung at his belt – a reflex, one that brought a red flush to Gerard's cheeks. _Like a frightened hare! Damn, but these travels have done my thoughts no good!_ Something was strange, however – by this time of morning the gates should be open, a few late woodsmen still jogging out to catch up with their friends. The old man slowed and stopped his run in front of the still gates, looking up at the short towers on either side – he saw no one. The wind tugged insistently at him, and the dark clouds that quickly gathered above Gerard's head would soon bring rain – yet, just outside the town's gate, the wind blew him nothing but occasional chirps. So close now that there was no room for imagining, ears straining, no sounds of humanity came to him – no hammer-blows, no shouts, no footsteps, no laughter, merely nothing.

Gerard slowly walked to the gate and gave it a solid push, stepping back as it swung open – his hand reached for his sword again but now stayed on the hilt. The sight that greeted his eyes was just as empty as what his ears had heard a few moments ago – streets barren of people, doors and shutters of all the houses and shops closed. _What, by the Nine Gods… Even in this weather…_ The thought drained from his mind as he stepped in, and dread rose up to fill the void – warily, warily, Gerard took another step.

Nothing but silence greeted him.

Step, step – still only silence. With one slow step after another the old traveler headed deeper, his footsteps his only companion.

Step, step – against his control, Gerard's steps sped up as he neared his old home, as he walked up the lone step. Half-formed prayers found his lips; the door stood ahead of him. In a single breath, Gerard stepped to it and pushed.

Senses recoiled. Inside was red, wet – everything soaked. Sheets torn, body ripped – blood pooled inside, under, spattered the walls, painted the ceiling. Bedframe splinters pierced mangled flesh. Hair dripped – carmine – stained forever. Face blinded – would have gargled blood had it breath. Wounds never to scar. Gobbets of flesh across the floor. All red, red, red.

Gerard's sight froze then – blinded by pain, he stumbled back with a cry. Off the stair he fell, landing on his back as the wind suddenly blew through with a howl, carrying the taste of copper through the gates and into the dark trees beyond. Staring upward unseeing, tears incapable of washing away the deep dirt of the road running from his eyes, the old man realized that the wind had not tried to chain him down – it had tried to save him.


	3. The Burial

**III. The Burial**

He lay in the street unmoving, mouth turned to ash. As the clouds built above him – far slower than they seemed a moment past – he cried. When the rain finally fell hours later and lightning rushed down to meet the earth, Gerard shook his head, snorting water, and slowly pushed himself up. Sitting with the storm washing across his body, matting his short hair to his head and soaking his clothes, legs slowly sinking into the mud, Gerard stared up through the doorway, his view of the bed – of her - mercifully obscured by the angle of his fall.

_Oh Gods, oh Gods, what… Oh Gods, how here? What could have… Oh Gods, grant her peace… Bless her soul… Oh Gods…_ Broken thoughts and parts of prayers washed over his mind, too shattered yet for anything more. _Oh Gods…_

Gerard sat longer, staring, his thoughts slowly straightening as the thunder continued to pound the earth with its fury. Hours passed in the cloud-born dark – finally, as the storm broke and the light of the sharp sickle moon cut its way through a gap in the wandering clouds, the old man rose to his feet. In a haze, he strode back up the stair, into the house. Finding a shovel and another bedsheet, Gerard moved to the bed and wrapped the body – her body – as neatly as he could, then lifted it – _her, her,_ his mind repeated endlessly – and carried the bundle from the house and down the crooked road to the back of town.

The old graveyard lay there. Barren of all but wet, glistening tombstones, ground hard even after the long storm, the bones of their ancestors lay beneath the earth here – from the first men and women who settled at the Forest's edge to Gerard's own father. Laying his burden down – realizing now what a fool he was to have taken her now, before the job was done – Gerard set to digging. He toiled for hours, his exhaustion worn away by his need.

_At least I can do this right. At least I can do this right for you. Oh Gods, lost…_

As golden light began to seep out from the horizon, Gerard climbed from the grave he had shaped. It was rough but deep, with more than enough space for the dead woman who lay on the ground beside it, wrapped head to toe in a mud-stained sheet. Letting the shovel fall to the ground, kneeling, hands shaking, the old man slowly withdrew the cover to look once more on her face – then quickly looked away and drew the bedsheet back over, the sight too painful. Gripping the body tightly – _Why her, now? Why?_ – Gerard slid down into the grave and slowly lowered her to the ground. Tears running down his face, he pulled the sheet back one last time and kissed her – _her, her!_ – on the lips, once, the taste of her hardened blood filling his mouth. Then, letting the cover fall back over her face, he climbed out from the pit and picked up the shovel.

With steady, mechanical strokes, Gerard filled the grave. As the sun rose up into the sky and danced along its path, he let himself fall atop the mound of earth he had created and darkness swallowed his senses.


End file.
